


The Space Between

by carryokee



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, Banter, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryokee/pseuds/carryokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The space between friends and lovers, that's where Dan and Casey live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Waldo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/gifts).



> To put it into context, this story picks up where the episode "Shane" left off: Danny's quiet and vulnerable, Casey's protective and understanding. I tried to incorporate all of Waldo's requests: angst, hurt/comfort, banter, happy ending, and humor. There's even a ferret or two thrown in. I hope I didn't miss the mark too badly on any of it.

Dan lasts 38 minutes before he finds himself gripping his beer so tightly, he swears he can feel his fingertips leaving impressions in the glass. Thirty-eight minutes before the trembling in his hands becomes a full body tremor he can feel behind his ribs and inside his bones, his teeth gritting hard enough he’s afraid they might crack. The world is too close, too bright, too loud.

"Excuse me," he mutters, the words barely making a sound as he pushes himself up. The sound of the chair scraping across the floor scrapes at his nerve endings and he winces a little. "I have to…" He hurries towards the restrooms.

He knows everyone’s looking at him, but the only eyes that matter are Casey’s. He can feel the warm weight of their gaze on the back of his neck and hopes they interpret his retreat as exactly what it is: a plea for rescue.

+++

Danny’s bent over the sink when Casey walks in, fingers curled around the edge of the basin, head bowed low between his shoulders. As he steps closer, more of Danny’s details become clear: the crescents of white beneath his nails, the shakiness of his breathing, the dampness of the hair along his neckline. Drops of water grow then fall from his nose and chin, one after the other.

Casey reaches out, presses his hand against Danny’s shoulder. "You okay?" It’s a stupid question, he knows. The answer is right in front of him. And they’ve been here before, though not in a while. But he still recognizes this place, the space between façade and reality, between Dan Rydell the inimitable sports anchor and the fragile, fallible Danny who’s as vital to Casey’s survival as his own heart.

Danny turns his face towards Casey and in an instant Casey knows that the wetness on it isn’t just from the faucet. Danny’s eyes are red and when he speaks, his voice is so small, it nearly breaks Casey’s heart. "Can we…" He sniffles, stands, and wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist. "Can we get out of here?"

Casey knows what Danny’s really asking. He slips his hand from Danny’s shoulder to the back of his neck, pressing the pad of his thumb against the back of Danny’s ear. He holds Danny’s eyes for a moment, sees in them a decade’s worth of trust and deftly concealed insecurities, and nods. "Let’s go."

+++

Dan stands there in silence as Casey makes their excuses to the table full of their friends, doing his best to smile ruefully in all the appropriate places. "Danny’s not feeling well," Casey says. "So I’m gonna take him home." He says something else, the words flowing smooth as glass, but Dan stops listening.

It’s not really a lie, Dan thinks. He hasn’t felt well in a long time. Years and years, if he were honest with himself. Which he tries not to be too often. Except now it’s getting harder to pretend, thanks to Abby. Sometimes he really hates her perspicacity. It’s the same with Casey, really, that kind of insight. The way he can look at Dan and know exactly what’s going on behind his eyes without even asking. It scares him sometimes just how well Casey knows him, mostly because he knows that someday that knowledge will be the reason Casey leaves him.

+++

The inside of the cab smells inexplicably like pumpkin pie.

"Pumpkin pie," Danny says, and Casey smiles because that’s how it’s always been with them: one of them thinks something, the other one says it.

"Pumpkin muffins," he says.

"Pumpkin brownies."

"Pumpkin bread."

"Pumpkin soup."

Casey looks over at him. "I’ve never understood pumpkin soup."

Danny meets his gaze. In the darkness of the cab, it’s hard to see Danny’s eyes, but the slight curve of his smile is encouraging. "You’ve never understood pumpkin soup?"

"No."

"What’s there to understand, Casey? It’s a soup made from pumpkins."

"I know _what_ it is, Danny. What I don’t understand is _why_ it is."

"Why it is."

"Yes. Why it is."

"You don’t understand the why of pumpkin soup."

"Exactly. It seems unnecessary to me."

"As opposed to the utter necessity of, say, mulligatawny."

"Mulligatawny _is_ necessary, Danny. If for no other reason than it’s fun to say. Mulligatawny. Mulligatawny." He smiles. "See? Fun." 

Danny falls silent and Casey feels his gut clench. Over the years, Casey’s become an expert on the meaning of Danny’s silences and this one isn’t good.

"I’m not okay, Casey," Danny finally says, turning his face towards the window.

+++

Casey’s place is closer, but they go to Dan’s instead. If asked, Casey would say that he likes the view from Dan’s windows better and that Dan has a nicer coffee maker, but Dan knows it’s because Casey knows Dan prefers his own space when he’s feeling like this, that the space between these walls is one of the few places where he doesn’t feel the pressure to be Dan Rydell, the guy who feels the need to be wittier than everyone else by half, and can just be Dan, the guy who sometimes doesn’t feel like talking at all.

Casey kisses him just inside the door. A warm press of lips, Casey’s fingers on his cheek. When Dan pulls back, Casey’s looking at him, an odd look in his eyes. It’s unreadable but not unwelcoming and as long as it isn’t pity, Dan will take it.

"Thank you," he whispers.

Casey shakes his head. "Don’t thank me, Danny. This isn’t a favor."

Only it is and they both know it. Casey can call it whatever he wants, but Dan knows. Casey doesn’t need this like Dan does.

"Casey, it’s okay. You don’t—"

Casey kisses him again, cutting him off. It’s deeper this time, Dan’s lips parting automatically in response to Casey’s, his hands finding the edges of Casey’s coat and pushing it off.

+++

Casey knows Danny thinks he does this out of some kind of skewed sense of friendship or something, as if he has a long history of using his body to make his friends feel better and Danny’s just the latest in a string. And it’s insulting, really, that Danny thinks this, mostly because Danny knows, he fucking _knows_ that Casey has never really been very good at separating sex from love. There was Sally of course, but she was an aberration, and even as he kept going back for more, he always felt guilty about it.

This is not that. Not even close. Mostly because he doesn’t feel guilty about this. He never has. For him, being with Danny like this – kissing him, touching him, undressing him – has always been a revelation. It’s always been something more than just comfort, more than just an umbrella against the storm of Danny’s issues. When he thinks about it too much, he thinks maybe he’s taking advantage, maybe he’s only using Danny to get what he can’t ask for himself. Because they only ever do this when Danny asks, and Danny only ever asks when he’s hurting.

But he still doesn’t feel guilty. Not when Danny responds to his touch like this, so openly needy, wordless noises in the back of his throat, fingers slipping through Casey’s hair, teeth against Casey’s skin. Not when the taste of Danny’s mouth reminds him of everything he’s ever wanted.

+++

Outside Dan’s window, the city’s still awake and ever since Casey dozed off nearly an hour ago, Dan’s been watching it: the movement of people on the sidewalks, the silent glide of cars on the streets, the gradual extinguishment of lights in the skyscrapers. Inside Dan’s bedroom it’s dark, and everything below stands out in sharp relief, other people’s lives going on around him, without him. So many people just trying to make their way, just trying to figure it out. He’s just one of millions.

Casey stirs behind him. 

"Hey. What’s so interesting out there?" The words are sleep-thick and soft and Dan smiles a little to himself at the sound of them.

He turns around, the rest of the world forgotten in favor of the sleepy figure currently twisted in his sheets, blinking at him through the darkness. "Nothing." He meets Casey’s eyes in the moonlight. "Hungry?"

Casey shakes his head. "Not really."

"Thirsty?"

"No."

"Cold? Because I can get another blanket. I have more. In the closet. Where I keep the extra blankets." Dan doesn’t know why he gets like this afterwards, nervous and awkward. It only happens with Casey. And he hates it. Hates that Casey can make him feel this way, that he even _can_ feel this way, vulnerable and exposed. All those years spent building and polishing his armor and here he is without it.

He wants Casey to hold him, but he doesn’t want to ask.

"Danny. Just stop."

"Stop what?"

"You’re babbling."

Dan crosses his arms. "I do not babble, Casey. I have never babbled. Not even as a baby. Ask my mother. In fact, my very first words were, ‘Soccer is not a real sport.’"

Casey rolls onto his back and tucks his arms under his head. "So this dislike you have for the world’s most popular sport is innate, is that what you’re saying?"

"Yes, Casey. That’s what I’m saying. It’s innate."

"So…it’s inborn." Casey’s mouth quirks up at the corners.

Dan's does the same. "Inborn, indigenous, inherent. _Instinctive._ "

"Insane, perhaps?" Casey holds up his hand, index finger and thumb an inch apart. "Just a little. Maybe."

Dan climbs back into bed at that, crawling under the sheet and turning towards Casey, propping his head on his hand. "The fact that millions of people around the world suffer from the same delusion has absolutely no bearing on the fact that soccer was, is, and always will be an incomprehensible waste of human energy."

"But expending human energy in the pursuit of curling is a completely noble endeavor." Casey rolls onto his side, scooting close enough to Dan that he can feel the warmth radiating off Casey’s skin. 

Dan smiles. "Anything that involves brooms being used in strategic ways is okay with me." He drops his head to the pillow and reaches out his hand, fitting his fingers in the spaces between Casey’s ribs, resting them there. Casey just watches him, eyes unreadable in the darkness, then reaches out his own hand and touches Dan’s face. When the pad of his thumb brushes across Dan’s lips, Dan kisses it.

Beats of silence pass, dropping like pebbles between them, and after a while they fall asleep like that, breathing in sync.

+++

Casey wakes briefly when Danny rolls over and the smooth expanse of Danny’s back is just too much to resist. Closing the space between them, he curls his body around Danny’s, pulling him close, burying his nose in Danny’s hair and breathing in. He loves holding Danny like this, but he’s never asked for it, never once reached for Danny like this when they’re both awake. He doesn’t think he could stand it if Danny pushed him away. So he takes what he can get, whenever he can get it. Which isn’t often enough.

But it is enough. It has to be. And when Danny snuggles against him and sighs, he almost believes it.

+++

Casey thinks he’s some kind of scrambled egg master and presents this morning’s creation with a certain amount of dramatic flourish, but Dan thinks that simply adding a bit of cumin and half a tomato hardly qualifies anyone for master status. Apprentice, maybe, but not master. But they’re not runny and they taste good, so Dan will let Casey have this one.

They’re eating in comfortable silence, sharing the paper back and forth, when Casey says, "Charlie wants a ferret."

Dan’s coffee mug stops halfway to his lips, and he looks at Casey over the top of the lifestyle section. "Excuse me?"

Casey sets down the business section and meets his eyes. "Charlie wants a ferret. According to Lisa, he’s been talking about it for weeks."

"A ferret."

"Yes, Danny. A ferret. Surely you’ve heard of them." He sips his coffee serenely, the sarcasm sparking in his eyes.

"Of course I’ve heard of them, Casey. I had a friend in college who had a ferret. He used to walk it on a leash. His name was Francois."

Casey’s eyebrows lift. "The friend or the ferret?"

Dan smirks. "The ferret. I forget the friend’s name."

"Not a very good friend, then."

"More like an acquaintance, really." Dan takes a sip of coffee. "But the ferret I remember."

"Francois," Casey says. "Francois the French-named ferret."

Dan smiles. "I knew you’d appreciate that."

Casey says around a bite of eggs, "You know how much I love alliteration, Danny."

"I do know, Casey. That’s why I told you."

"Thank you for that."

"You’re welcome."

They finish their breakfast and as Dan clears the table, Casey looks up at him. "Why do you remember the ferret?"

Dan meets his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "He was a very famous ferret, Casey."

"Famous?" Casey grins. "Francois the French-named ferret was famous?"

"Yes," Dan says. "He was." He disappears into the kitchen.

Casey follows him. "What was he famous for?"

Dan smiles as he sets the dishes in the sink. "He could fetch."

"Fetch. Francois could fetch." Casey leans against the edge of the counter next to Dan and grabs his elbow. "Don’t toy with me, Danny. I mean it."

Dan looks over at him. "I’m completely serious, Casey. Francois the famous French-named ferret could fetch."

Casey grins. "That," he says. "That’s…fantastic, Danny. Just fantastic."

Dan grins back. "Don't you want to know what he fetched?"

Casey holds his breath hopefully. "Please let it be flowers."

Dan laughs. "Flowers?"

"Figs? Flip-flops? Funnels?"

Dan just stares at him. "Yes, Casey. He fetched funnels. My friend rented him out to people who needed to pour large amounts of liquids into small-mouthed containers without making a mess. It was a niche market."

"Francois the famous French-named funnel-fetching ferret," Casey says with obvious satisfaction.

"From Fresno," Dan says, smiling.

Casey grabs his arm again, looking at him with wide eyes. "No way. Really?"

Dan rolls his eyes. "No, Casey. Not really." He laughs. "But you should’ve seen your face."

Casey shoves him, smirking. "You’re a cruel man, Dan Rydell."

"And you, my young friend," Dan says, "are a language-loving freak with whom I am often embarrassed to be seen in public. Unless I’m drunk."

Casey’s hand is suddenly curled around the back of Dan’s neck, fingertips pressing in. "Aw, Danny. I love you, too," he says, smiling.

Dan tenses at the words, but Casey doesn’t seem to notice.

+++

Two minutes to air.

"So, about this ferret Charlie wants," Danny says. "I’m in."

Casey looks over at him. "You’re in."

"Yes, Casey, I’m in." He grins. "Because Lisa will hate it."

Casey smiles despite himself. "That she will."

"And because I believe that every child should know the joys and sorrows of pet parenthood. I’ll even go halfsies."

Casey laughs. "Well, in that case, maybe we should buy two. A male and a female."

"Francois and Fiona."

"Phillip and Francesca."

"Franklin and Philomena."

"Frederick and Francine," Casey says. "We’ll teach ’em to fetch."

Danny gives him a look. "Don’t start that again."

Casey smiles again. "They’ll be famous, Danny."

Danny smiles in return, one of those smiles Casey knows he can't help. "And fruitful."

"And fathoms of fun."

"Fathoms?"

"Just go with it."

"They could beget a whole ferret family."

"A ferret fiefdom!"

"A fabulous fiefdom full of famous funnel-fetching ferrets!"

"Fancied for the fineness of their fur!"

They share a grin. The look in Danny's eyes makes Casey feel good.

Kim breaks in, laughter in her voice, "Ten seconds, guys."

+++

After the show, Casey holds Dan back as he tries to get on the elevator. "We’ll catch the next one," Casey says to everyone and Dan doesn’t miss the way Natalie’s eyes narrow slightly as the doors slide shut.

He looks over at Casey. "Care to explain what that was about?"

Casey holds his gaze. "You tensed."

"I tensed."

"This morning. You tensed."

Dan tenses again at the memory. "I did not tense."

"You did," Casey says. "And I want you to know you don’t have to."

"I don’t have to tense."

"No. Not ever."

"What if I’m on a plane and we have to crash land? Can I tense then?"

"Danny."

"What? You’re saying I don’t ever have to tense. All I’m saying is there may be certain occasions when tensing is called for. Like if I’m riding the ferry and it starts to sink. Or when Natalie calls me by my full name."

"Danny, all your examples are potentially life-threatening."

"So?"

"So what I’m saying is, this, you and me, is not life-threatening."

"So therefore I don’t have to tense."

"Exactly."

Dan thinks about it for a second. "But—"

"But nothing, Danny." Casey wraps his hand around the back of Dan's neck and squeezes, meeting Dan's eyes. "Nothing at all." He just looks at Dan for a long moment. "Okay?"

Dan concentrates on the feel of Casey's hand on the back of his neck and the warmth in Casey's eyes and lets himself relax. "Okay."

Casey pulls his hand away. "Good," he says, nodding firmly once, as if something important has just been decided. "That's...really good." Then he turns towards the elevator, presses the call button, and smiles.

The End


End file.
